


i'm here in search of your glory

by fensandmarshes



Series: last night's clothes and tomorrow's dreams 'verse [3]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Gen, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, Identity Reveal, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Secret Identity, Wade Wilson Being an Idiot, i love that that's a tag that exists, implied/referenced gore but it doesn't make any sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: Wade shakes his head to clear it. Blinks. “You’reblind?”If this were an anime, Wade would be able to see ellipses appearing on-screen next to maybe-Daredevil's face. He looks like the living embodiment of 'prettyboy.exe has stopped responding'. “Uh,” the aforementioned pretty idiot says eloquently, and his knuckles tighten over his cane (his cane! which he has ‘cause he’s -blind as a bat. The Batman jokes are justbeggingto be made)."What's blindness?" prettyboy.exe says."Are you pulling a 'who's Morales'? on me, Double D?" Wade grins amiably, swinging his arm around Red's shoulders to not-so-subtly grope his deltoids.or: foggy makes the mistake of promising wade legal help after wade makes sure matt doesn't die in an alley. matt's bad attempts at lying about his secret identity ensue.
Relationships: (impligaytions?), (kinda??? but it's just wade implying things), Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: last night's clothes and tomorrow's dreams 'verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535831
Comments: 29
Kudos: 295





	i'm here in search of your glory

**Author's Note:**

> \- weird amalgamation of netflix and comics  
> \- i am an australian so it physically pained me to type things like "cellphone" and i don't know shit about fire escapes. the things i do for fic  
> \- i owe my life to supineforthestars but don't know how to link in notes??? send help (she saved my ass w/ concrit and i love her)  
> \- it should be noted that red = daredevil = dd/double d = matt, just in case  
> \- title from the last of the real ones by fall out boy because i'm HIGHKEY trash for that song

Wade’s not one to panic when things go sideways. Sure, he might fumble a few shots, he might talk a little faster, a little louder, but typically the spilling-out of stomach matter is par for the course given his chosen occupation. It’s when the stomach matter in question belongs to Daredevil, aka The One That Tolerates My Shit Because He Needs Me To Help Take Out The New Mafia (Wade’s fairly certain that each of the Defenders had a unique and special brand of “fuck you, no” for Red when he popped the question, ruling out the possibility of an epic, overly colour-themed team-up miniseries), that he gets slightly antsy. One of the overly stereotypical henchmen (insert ao3 tag here: “godawful henchman pining”) had gotten one (1) good attack in after they’d all piled onto Daredevil like kids yelling TACKLE PILE in a middle-school playground and held each limb down so he couldn’t go feral on their asses. It was a good plan. It had even  _ worked  _ for a couple of seconds, which should frankly be considered very impressive in the grand scheme of things.

Wade’s hauled the dipshit up to the fire escape of a nondescript building near a church (something about this makes Red laugh, for some reason? Wade doesn’t get it). No moon, barely enough light to see by and definitely not enough to peer down into the alley so Wade pulls a flashlight from a pouch and sweeps the area, satisfied after a few minutes and turning to the discarded his weird-ass rigid mask on the red lattice beside them because in (CLAP) this (CLAP) house (CLAP) we (CLAP) check (CLAP) for (CLAP) concussions (CLAP). 

The clapping makes Daredevil cringe. We have response to auditory stimuli, people!

“Uh, Double D.” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Daredevil’s eyes, and worry squirms in his stomach when DD doesn’t focus on them. He pushes that shit away. “You awake? I’m gonna need you to stay awake, just til I can patch this up.”

“Get off me, Deadpool,” DD grumbles. (Did Wade forget to mention he was using Red’s chest as a body pillow to discourage oh-fuck-you-saw-my-face-time-to-run-away moments?) He frowns, pats his face with his hand, jumps like a startled animal. “My mask, I -”

So that’s more awake than Wade was counting on. “Yuh-huh, you’re very pretty. I’ma elect to  _ not  _ get off you just this second, ‘cause I’m worried you’re going to run off like a veritable Alex Wilder,” Wade chatters, snatching for the burner phone Daredevil is clutching close to his chest and missing. “I gotta find a first aid kit somewhere, Red, but I’m worried you’re gonna up and join the circus.”

“... What.”

“‘Cause that’s what you do when you run away, Kate Wetherall,” Wade sighs, rolling his eyes. “At least you’re pretty.”

Daredevil’s face crumples up, and had Wade been less distracted (by the fact that Red’s bleeding out! Mind out of the gutter, you) he probably would have commented more. As it is, he’s trying to remember why the fuck he didn’t invest in a first aid kit (and trying to forget the very specific memory he has of Nate telling him  _ ‘don’t get rid of it, Wade, I’m sure you’ll need it again sometime’  _ and Wade laughing back with a  _ ‘what, for if I need to bandage a cut?’  _ and Nate had beat him -  _ touche _ \- saying softly, sardonically,  _ ‘for if you ever let yourself trust someone’  _ and left again; was that the time he died? Nah, just didn’t want to stick around - and yup we’re closing that can of worms before it gets out of hand. As it stands, it’s an obnoxious  _ I told you so _ moment he’s doing his damnedest to ignore, even in the impressive company of Nate’s other  _ colossally  _ obnoxious  _ I told you so  _ moments).

“Am I?” Red huffs a laugh. Wade’s not in on the joke.

“Alright. Gimme that.” Wade makes grabby hands for the burner phone in Daredevil’s hands, but the idiot squirms away and lets out a hiss, aborted halfway through the sound. Wade chortles. “Did you not realise that’d hurt?” he crows, swiping the phone without any difficulty at all as Red’s taking a barest second to process whatever stitches or muscles he just pulled. “You really are as stupid as you look.”

“I’m not stupid - give me that, Wade,” Daredevil grumbles, reaching halfheartedly for the phone as Wade dances it out of his reach. “Didn’t’cha just say I was pretty, anyway?”

“Oh, sure, in a gormless sort of way.” Wade turns away from where DD’s lying spreadeagled on the random-ass fire escape (Wade picked one and committed to it, TBH - needed to be higher, see what was going on, but couldn’t be fucked dragging Red up more than a few stories) and turns on the phone. Dinosaur phone. “What is this,  _ Nokia  _ or some shit? Why d’you got an ancient phone, Red?”

“Can feel the buttons,” DD murmurs. (Is he delirious? To be fair, he’d have a right to be; he’s bleeding out. That big of a wound, he’s probably earned five, maybe ten minutes of delirium? Wooziness isn’t cheap in the vigilante business, given any minute or two when you can worry slightly less about the fate of the entire world and also all of your loved ones is worth more than diamonds. In a matter of speaking, given half of ‘em are dirt-poor and would take the diamonds in an instant and the other half are billionaires who already have vault-fuls. ‘Vaultful’ is totally a legitimate measure, right? This is America. Fuckers already measure things by  _ bullet velocity per football pitch _ , surely one more totally impractical measure won’t even faze ‘em.)

Ahem.

Anyway.

There’s one (1) contact on the phone and Wade dials it the long way (who has  _ buttons  _ on their cell phones any more? Get with the times, DD) before noticing it’s tied via speed dial to the number 5 in the very centre of the keypad. This, kids, is what we call a galaxy brain moment. The line rings once before someone picks up, and Wade switches the phone to speaker mode.

“Matt?” It’s a guy speaking (sounds like one anyway - Wade shouldn’t assume, or Tumblr’ll beat his head in). “What’s up, buddy?”

“Hi,” Wade says, going for his best winning smile and hoping it’s reflected in his voice somehow. “Not Daredevil. Listen, uh, your  _ buddy _ ’s currently bleeding out -”

“Who’s speaking?” The voice is mellow, very little gruffness, and medium pitch. Doesn’t sound like someone who does any growling. Classic good cop. (Wade can only imagine what Red’s voice sounds like when he’s not putting on the stupid Bat-growl. Is he hoarse? Must be, what with all the -)

Wade nicks his own palm with the tip of a knife-blade to draw his attention back to the task at hand. “I could say ‘wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy’, it’d be lovely and memey - the AO3 kids would eat that one up, tee-bee-aych -”

“Where are you,” the voice says, sounding defeated. 

Wade’s pleased as punch. It’s not often that he manages to get the ‘I’m gonna keep talking in circles until you accept you’re never gonna get a straight answer’ sentiment across without even employing a full-stop. “Not, uh, not 100% sure,” he hums, looking around; it’s a nondescript fire-escape, and the buildings looming over them have nondescript walls and no identifying markings. “Red, d’you know -”

DD (‘Matt?’) fumbles for the phone before Wade can dart back out of reach, snagging it on the first try without looking up. “Fire escape, near the church on 51st,” he rattles off. “This - uh -” Wade gets the strong impression he’s searching for a nicer word than ‘cretin’ before giving up and going straight for the enfranchised proper-noun alias - “is Deadpool. ‘m sorry about him.”

Judgmental silence from the phone. “Hi!” Wade chimes to fill it. “I’m Red’s bestie!”

“No you’re not.”

“You keep telling yourself that. Anyway, come get your boyfriend, he’s being pretty and I’m not made of stone,” Wade entreats, waggling his eyebrows in the direction of the old-ass Nokia. (Is it weird to relate to a phone? He can commiserate on the ‘being unbreakable keeps getting used as an excuse to see just how much you can take by breaking you over and over’ front.) “Didn’t catch your name, by the way -”

“Fuck, maybe later, I cannot be trusted at present to make smart decisions,” the voice returns, ever-so-done; Wade can only imagine this isn’t the first time he’s been gotten out of bed at ass-o-clock to communicate with whichever random vigilante Red’s running with that week. “He’s not my boyfriend, by the way -”

“And I’m  _ straight, _ ” Red inserts deftly as if anyone’s gonna believe him -

“- can you move, Matt?” the voice continues, ignoring DD’s assertions of heterosexuality in a way that Wade is extremely familiar with. (‘Matt’ it is, then. Wade will add it to his spreadsheet.) “I’m guessing that’s a firm  _ no _ , but just in case -?”

Red laughs.

“ _ Jesus _ , Matt.”

Matt ( _ nope, we’re not calling him that, it doesn’t work - too much of an  _ everyman  _ name, sounds like a straight-laced lawyer or good Catholic boy or some shit, all the things feral Red could obviously never be _ ) stiffens. (Wade glances back at his face, telling himself he feels no consternation, only a desire to appreciate Red’s admittedly impressive facial features. His eyes still aren’t focusing, which is worrying - maybe he’s concussed?) “I,” says he’s-probably-a-Matt-but-that-doesn’t- _ work _ , “am ... definitely not named Matt?”

“Where did all the years go, buddy - you know, the ones we literally spent learning to persuade people of things,” the Nokia phone deadpans (Wade loves that word). Red snickers. “OK, look, uh -”

“Wade Winston Wilson,” Wade chirps, saluting the air.

“I’ll get back to you, but right now I need you to be somewhere not here.”

Wade turns serious for a second, frowns. “We sure that’s wise? I mean, your boyfriend’s intestines are not having much fun right now, they’re about as used to being exposed to the open air as a professional comedian is to getting laid. I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to be coherent, but that would mean less opportunity for stimulating conversation and witty banter so I think it just got conveniently glossed over -”

Daredevil pushes Wade off the fire escape. Wade gets the point.

DD’s boyfriend (Wade’s pretty sure there’s now a Daredevil-voice in his brain now to keep the others company, dedicate solely to ‘I’m straight’s and ‘he’s not my boyfriend’s) texts Wade a couple days later after a somewhat-worrying lack of any Daredevil activity in the city. Not that Wade’s worried for the shithead,  _ obviously _ ; he’s just got a job that a human bloodhound would come in very handy for. That’s the only reason. The dude texts and he’s like  _ whoa, it’s Deadpool, so cool, and as a sign of my eternal gratitude for saving my boyfriend who I love with all my heart and bump nasties with on the regular, I’m, like, totes a lawyer and I’ll save you from the unjust legal system that would have you in prison for killing a couple of evil dirtbags or heavily fined for a smidge of totally unavoidable public nudity!  _ and Wade, all suave-like, responds  _ totes my dude I will grace you with my presence mañana en la mañana <3 <3  _ and gets an incredulous four hours of being left on read in response.

Which.

Rude.

“Nelson, Murdock and Page” sounds so obnoxiously regular that Wade can hardly believe it’s affiliated with Red in any way, shape or form, and yet here we are. Standard office, amidst coffee shops and butchers and within walking distance of the local precinct. (To be fair, any distance is walking distance unless you’re a COWARD.) Wade takes an hour or so to take stock of the place (sniper angles, points of entry and exit, proximity of nearest churro stand - unfortunately it’s one of the many that he’s already been banned from) before strolling right in the front door with the sole intention of disregarding everything that the intel he’s just gathered would indicate he should do.

Fun times!

There’s only one person in the office as of yet; Wade couldn’t see much of them from any rooftop he bothered to visit beyond ‘brown hair, average height, sitting at desk’. He takes a moment to assess: they’re hot, probably male, holding a cane (could be used as a weapon; Wade spirals into thirty ways to take it out of play judging by the length, breadth and approximated weight) - blind? And eyes doing that ambiguous comics thing where sometimes the colour varies even within a single issue so we’re  _ not  _ gonna commit to blue or brown, just pick one or the other and run with it, honestly - with glasses within reach on the desk. Probably five ten or five eleven, wearing a dark suit, and he does a double-take in Wade’s direction (opening his mouth to speak) before stiffening and staring (can blind people stare?) determinedly at the table, pretending not to notice.

Wade clears his throat, even though he’s pretty sure the guy already knows he’s there.

Over-acted fake surprise. “WHOA, who’s that?” and then, softer “Foggy, is that you?” delivered in monotone.

Wade paces forwards, gets a good look at the guy’s face -

“...  _ Red _ ?”

The guy frowns and  _ oh shit he’s not just hot he’s CUTE _ \- his whole face crumples into the motion, hot  _ damn  _ would Wade have a good time with that mouth. “Who’s Red?” he asks. His voice jumps a little over the words like he’s lying and  _ bad at it _ . Then again, maybe it’s just his not-Red voice - Wade knows full well his Daredevil voice is hoarse and forced out, has made the Batman comparison many times. One night when not much was going on he tried to see just how many Batman jokes he could make in a single hour. His arm took another four to heal. Granted, either voice is  _ mm,  _ does things for Wade (maybe the gruffness works, so sue him, but this scratchy hoarse voice is nice too), but the difference between them quite frankly doesn’t seem healthy for Red’s vocal cords -

Wade shakes his head to clear it. Blinks. “You’re  _ blind? _ ”

If this were an anime, Wade would be able to see ellipses appearing on-screen next to maybe-Red’s face. He straight-up looks like  _ prettyboy.exe has stopped responding _ . “Uh,” said pretty idiot says eloquently, and his knuckles tighten over his cane (his cane! which he has ‘cause he’s -  _ oh my god he’s blind as a bat this is comedy gold right here _ ).

“What’s blindness?” pretty-boy says blankly, looking like he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

And.

Yup.

That’s definitely Red.

“Are ya pulling a ‘who’s Morales’ on me, Double D?” Wade says amiably, swinging his arm around not-maybe-but-also-totally-Red and giving his deltoids a not-so-subtle squeeze - yup, that’s  _ definitely  _ Red, he’d recognise those muscles anywhere. “I saw your face the other night, there’s no point bothering. Like Imagine Dragons said, you’re a  _ really  _ bad liar. Also you have a concussion. How’s things?”

“I’m  _ working _ \- get off me,” probably-Red says, making a valiant attempt to protect his identity but he cannot straight-up lie, always has been one for misdirection and half-truths rather than fibs. “I don’t even know you. The other night??? What do you mean? What night????”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Wade grins back, “working with a concussion. Can’t really remember much, but concussions are like … violence hangovers and I seriously doubt you’re doing much productive.”

“... I have the right to remain silent,” Red-but-a-pretty-civilian shoots back. “That is. Uh. If you’re some kind of military person. Because. I have no idea who you are.”

“Yup,” Wade agrees, “right. You gonna show me where you work now the cat’s outta the bag?”

“I’m not showing you shit.” Red shrugs Wade’s arm off and makes a show of stumbling; it doesn’t take any special effort (tho maybe Wade’s underselling his expertise) to see that his balance stays completely steady and controlled throughout the motion. “What do you -”

“Matt!” calls someone from beyond the door. “Let me in, you dick, my hands are full.”

Pretty-boy-Red tenses and shoots Wade a death glare (it’s familiar, given just how well-acquainted Wade is with Daredevil’s death glares - takes on a new level of impressiveness, though, now that Wade knows Red can’t even see what he’s glaring at. Does he just pick a spot, hope for the best and hit it with the angriest expression he’s got?) before rising and opening the door. Wade looks the guy up and down appraisingly: white guy in a cheap suit. Blond, holding two coffees and clutching a messenger bag. The guy’s a seven, eight at best, but Wade could dig it. Instead of letting Red’s friend (boyfriend?) know he’s been checking him out (analytically  _ and _ , he’s not opposed to admitting, appreciatively), Wade hurries to stand and makes a show of steadying poor blind Red after his unfortunate stumble on the uneven carpet. 

“Careful there, buddy,” Wade coos, flashing a sharp grin before remembering it’s wasted. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, now would we?”

No wonder Daredevil’s got so much pent-up rage.

The guy sets his coffees down on the desk and faces Wade, eyeing him off. “Foggy Nelson,” he says pleasantly, holding out a hand, “and you are?”

“We spoke on the phone last night,” Wade says meaningfully. “Your buddy and I were just catching up.”

“ _ Matt _ ,” the good old disembodied voice from the Nokia (fOgGy nELsOn) says pointedly, “how do you know Deadpool?”

Wade laughs. “Yeah,  _ Matt _ , you wanna explain that one?”

“He’s my … friend from church,” Red pipes up, “we … volunteer … at church together. When they’re having stuff on.”

“Why is your name first on the sign, o fabled Nelson?” Wade adds, mimicking a thinking emoji by placing his hand to his chin. “It makes no sense. ‘S not even in alphabetical order.”

Nelson’s eyes flick between the two of them, from Wade’s hoodie and gloves to Red’s barely-contained fury to the double thumbs-up Wade flashes in his direction. “He knows, right?” he murmurs, and Wade doesn’t reckon he’s meant to hear it. 

Red - ‘Matt’ - lets his head drop to the desk in front of him. As far as answers go, it’s fairly conclusive; the resulting “Yes, Foggy” is nothing but pleasantry.

“I talked to your boyfriend here,” Wade says through his grin, jerking his thumb at Nelson (can Red tell he’s doing that? He never seemed to have trouble with Wade’s hand gestures before but maybe he was just making lucky guesses), “on the phone last night while you were bleeding out. Speaking of, you’re bleeding through your shirt. Just so you know. He seemed to think it was a good idea to promise legal help the next time I needed it which, by the way -” here Wade turns to Nelson, offering a somewhat-apologetic shrug - “was probably a very bad idea. As evidenced by my turning up the very next day. But what can you do?”

DD turns his head towards Nelson (totally a boyfriend, judging by the way they look at each other) and hits him with the puppy eyes. It occurs to Wade that said puppy eyes are even  _ more _ impressive now that he knows Red can’t even see what he’s doing with ‘em - no chances to practice in the mirror. Really weird to contemplate someone not really knowing what a mirror’s like, though maybe he wasn’t born blind? Wade’ll find out one way or another if Red wants to tell him, anyway. Regardless: the puppy eyes are forlorn and exhausted and very guilt-trippy, and Wade feels extremely sorry for the poor dude who’s on the receiving end of their full force. 

“You promised  _ this guy  _ we’d represent him?” Red ( _ Matt? _ ) groans in Nelson’s direction. “This is going to be worse than the Punisher trial.”

“You don’t know that, Matt,” Nelson admonishes. (Wade’s gonna have to get used to that name, even if it’s a bit too saintly for him to associate it with Daredevil (feral, wild, brutal). “Let’s just … give him a chance.”

“ _ If you change your mind! I’m the first in line, _ ” Wade hums, just loud enough to get on mAtT’s nerves.

Nelson fixes him with a stare. “ABBA?”

“You know it.”

“A man after my own heart. See, Matt -” a deadpan stare which results in Nelson rolling his eyes and plowing through to finish his sentence - “more evidence in his favour.”

Pretty-Red (so much  _ more  _ pretty when he’s displaying the upper half of his face) pinches the bridge of his nose. “Foggy, he’s a mass murderer.”

“But you love me,” Wade coos, making kissy faces in Red’s direction. He gets a disgruntled glare from Nelson - yup, acts like a boyfriend and possessive at that. He’ll be fun to wind up. But not too much, ‘cause from what Wade’s seen, he’s got Red absolutely whipped, wrapped around his little finger, and that’s both fun as hell to watch and intimidating as fuck to poke at with a stick.

“Objection: I literally tell you I hate you on the regular.”

“You haven’t killed me yet, Red; actions speak louder than words!”

“I don’t kill people.”

“Is that an implied ‘ _ otherwise … _ ’ I detect?”

“I dunno, dipshit, you tell me.”

“Alright,” Nelson cuts in, “settle, both of you. You can punch this out another time, how’s about that?”

“Oh, we’re gonna,” Wade promises. Red nods along earnestly. 

To Nelson’s credit, he manages to maintain a fairly competent fake-nonplussed expression. “Since Matt here is being  _ sulky  _ today, Mr. Wilson, I’m gonna have to get back to you another time -”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous,” Wade agrees just to see how DD reacts. For someone who claims he’s ‘straight’, ‘not exactly the jealous type’ and ‘not in love with my best friend, Wade, that’s ridiculous’ even though Wade knows all the signs, that’s sure a lot of white-knuckling and setting of jaws and gritting of teeth; he might as well be turning green at the gills for how subtle he’s being. Sweet, sweet innocent Red. Poor emotionally illiterate Red (and if  _ Wade _ ’s calling him emotionally illiterate, that’s a  _ very  _ bad sign). “I’ll see ya both another time; lovely seeing you, Tristan Thorn! And you, o Pollux of Hunger Games fa - actually, pretty much as far from fame as you can get, you had like two lines in that movie. You go on and get back to your -” he clears his throat meaningfully - “ _ work _ , or whatever it is you two do in your spare time. Alone in the office. Together. Unsupervised.”

(DD, Matt, buries his face in his hands again.)

“If you catch my meaning,” Wade grins, just to make the both of them flush as red as  _ Matt’s  _ suit.

Wink. Bow. Exit stage left.

He’s halfway down the street when the idea hits him like a lightning bolt, an epiphany, a stroke of genius:  _ Redthew _ .

Oh, that’s gonna piss him off so much.

**Author's Note:**

> \- don't ask me why it was foggy and not claire on speed dial? it's my universe i do what i want (also i like claire but don't really connect with her? foggy on the other hand owns my poor gay heart)  
> \- i'm on tumblr and twitter as fensandmarshes!!!  
> \- me, reaching galaxy brain: if i make wade's pop-culture namedrops obscure enough, no one will know that it's lowkey ooc for him to even know what some of them are  
> \- if you have any concrit, i would die for it and also you


End file.
